Steeled Eyes and Boiling Blood - Home Alone
by Youre Gonna Get Slapped
Summary: When a recently reawoken Steve finds himself abandoned in his carer's home for longer than he anticipated, his mind begins to wander to strange and irrational things.


_When... When will he come home? It's been too long now... Too long... Far too long. Come back._

Steve muttered faint words into his hands as he curled himself up tight on the leather lounge, sinking into the extremely puffy cushions and pulling up a throw rug to clutch onto tightly. His eyes flicked nervously between the front door and the nearest window, before up to the ceiling and off toward the kitchen. His mind ran a mile a minute, processing everything he could see within range, even those he didn't know of. He thought of everything. What if the roof suddenly caved in? There was a crack in the ceiling with a few wet splotches that couldn't be cleaned off no matter how much he scrubbed. Or maybe the window would blow in; it was starting to pick up outside, who knew what could happen. Or even a thief could burst through the door at any moment and stab him; he just didn't know.

The teenager had been left alone by his superior to deal with a few hours of being alone. At first it was all fun. He stole sugar from the cupboard and sat on the bench to eat half of the jar; but that happiness was short-lived. He moved from there to his own room, to find something of interest, but then he remembered.

 _He had nothing._

Wandering back out into the lounge room, he paced a grand total of seventy-three times, counted meticulously. He even stopped occasionally to recollect himself and focus back on the steps, just to make sure he wouldn't forget. Soon that pacing died down into him sitting on the floor every five seconds, scanning the room from top to bottom to find every single little blemish and mark in the paintwork and plaster. Once again, he decided to count. He counted a total of four little black house spiders and three daddy-longlegs, a cocoon and seven moths; all hanging around the corners, mouldings and arches of the room. There was a coffee stain along the wall over the lounge, with a belt scrape close to the front door. Someone must have been in a hurry one morning. Not surprising.

Soon his anxiety grew and he began to feel unsafe in the home, wandering around to check bedrooms, the bathroom, the hallway and kitchen for any cracks near doorways and tiles. He was looking for anything that could possibly contribute to the collapse of the entire frame. A snaking crack from the top-right corner of Leon's bedroom door had him rather concerned, staring at the split in paintwork for two to five minutes; his eyes unfocussed and his mind spaced out. He just didn't know what to do with himself. And so he moved onto the lounge, where he was now situated, balled up and shaking.

 _You said an hour... An hour. It's been four hours. Four. Why aren't you home yet._

The teenager lay curled up in the chocolate-coloured lounge, legs pulled up and in near his chest; chin barely touching down onto his knees. His curved back was completely pressed against the backrest, nothing but the tips of his knees and his head sticking out from under the blanket to make sure he could still breathe. Suffocation was a real risk; he didn't want to be susceptible to that. He made sure. No suffocating today.

Food struck him as an idea. His stomach had begun talking to him. 'Feed me'. That half a jar of sugar just wasn't enough. He couldn't cope, but he didn't want to move. He needed food, but if he got up, someone could see him. Someone could _get_ him. Leon told him to stay put too. He couldn't risk that. Leon was a scary man when he was angry. That was terrible. The last time he let the man catch him stealing sugar at midnight. There was too much risk and not enough reward.

 _You said you'd be home quick... Where did you go? Did someone kidnap you? Do you hate me? Don't you want to come back? I can be good. I can._

Steve had brought up his hand to sink his teeth into the base of his thumb, tears pricking at his eyes and stinging his vision due to the sudden sharp pain. He blinked furiously to keep them at bay, fleeing that thought to instead keep his eyes shut. That way tears wouldn't fall. They wouldn't happen, and he wouldn't cry. He never cries. Never. He was a man. Men didn't cry.

The snap of a latch caught his attention, his head shooting up to see where the noise had originated from, navy irises having bleached into golden. A sign of panic, his guard rising tenfold. He didn't want to get kicked; not today. He didn't like getting hurt. His hand flew up and behind the lounge to pull out a stored weapon he remembered Leon mentioning the day he was welcomed into his home. A steel baseball bat; a perfect bludgeoning tool for intruders. Tossing the throw rug aside, he dragged the sport item out from behind the lounge, both hands grasping it tight as he hefted it up and over his shoulder. His bare feet were silent along the carpet as he slowly crept forward, the latch turning into what sounded like the fiddling of a lock; followed by a jingle of various keys.

 _Is he home? Did he come back? Or is it another soldier? Did they find me?_

His eyes widened a little as the door swung open, raising the bat a little higher as a precaution. Just as he was at the pinnacle of the strike, he was forced to stop, his eyes flicking mercilessly around at the other that had come into his vision.

Leon's muttered ramblings to himself were silenced indefinitely as he stopped dead at the door of his own home, one hand clasped a small bundle of keys, his other holding a medium sized box. He was frozen at the sight of the teenager holding up a blunt weapon ready to strike, having to take a moment to analyse the situation and resolve the conflict properly. Slowly, ever-so slowly, he moved to stuff the keys into his jacket pocket; reaching that same hand out to hold onto the end of the bat and prevent Steve from swinging it if he so chose to.

"Steve, calm down," he cooed quietly, pushing the weapon down gradually as not to agitate him into a worse state. "Put down the bat..."

Olivine eyes scanned over the teen's form for some kind of explanation to his actions, noting dark lines under his eyes and heavy breathing, quick to put it down as panic. The adolescent's clothes were messy too, haphazard, even his belt wasn't done up completely despite the lack of use it even had. He looked as if he had rolled out of bed, suffered a bashing then went without seven days of sleep. He was a wreck; a total mess. He was shaking to the point he looked as if he should have been in the arctic.

"What happened?"

A useless question with no result. Steve had dropped the bat aside and took two strides to collide with the other with a dull thump, lithe arms coiling around his torso in a surprisingly tight grip. Leon had no choice but to bear the assault, stroking his free hand over the boy's back in calming circles in hopes to calm him down. The shaking had intensified at this point, realising now that it wasn't just from fear or anxiety. It was from tears, lament; crying. The teen grabbed at the back of his jacket to keep himself steady, sobs barely heard from the material that muffled him. He couldn't do that again, not four hours, not even two. He couldn't do that. It was awful coming home to that. Steve shouldn't have had to suffer like that. And as a friend, he never should have let that happen.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say, returning the gesture in an equal embrace; chin rested against his head with a quiet sigh. The quivering calmed down a little, but it was still very obvious. "I didn't mean to be that long. I just got side-tracked looking for something. A present, actually."

The agent felt Steve shift, pulling back his head a little to see reddened eyes staring up at him; the piercing topaz hue boring holes into his face. The teen rubbed over his nose and cheek with the back of a hand, curious as to what the 'present' was.

 _Who is it for? What is it for? Is it for me? Was there some kind of celebration that came up while I was asleep? Is it some kind of 'kind act'? What is it?_

"For you."

Steve's stare increased quickly, a few blinks marking his curiosity and confusion over what he had just heard. A present? For him? For what? What did he do?

"I can _see_ that you're overanalysing this. Take it easy. I just wanted to get you something that you'd use."

The younger pulled back a little, continuing to rub at his face and hide the remnants of sorrow in his expression as best as possible. Though it was getting a lot easier now that he wasn't alone. Isolation was the worst feeling. He hated it. It always got him freaking out. And that, strangely, embarrassed him.

"Take it."

Leon pushed the box into his hands softly and assured he had a hold before drawing his own away, the faint light of a smile across his face. Steve fumbled a moment, though soon turned his sight down on the box. He tilted it one way, then the other, only to stop when the box made a solid thump. As if something slid inside and hit the side. Too small for shoes, but too big for jewellery. It almost looked about the size of a phone. A phone?

 _No_.. _He didn't..._

Lifting away the lid revealed exactly what he thought. A mobile phone, and in quite good condition. Considering that it wasn't in its original packaging, it had to be second-hand. Though what was even better about it was that it wasn't one of those fancy 'smart phones' that Leon had blabbered on about once before. It was a phone he remembered, an old phone, a Nokia. Built like a brick and sometimes weighing like one too. It reminded him of the ones he had seen around when he was last conscious. It was bulky, and it had a little antenna that you could pull up on the top, but it would do its job and that was all he would have needed. It was a mobile phone.

"It's a Nokia 5110. If my research has been right, they came out around 1998. Familiar?"

Leon lifted his hand to ruffle his auburn locks gently, smile having increased exponentially as he watched Steve's face brighten. "Basic numbers are already keyed in, like voicemail and emergency," he continued to explain, coaxing the empty packaging away from his hands to close up. "And it has mine on speed dial. If you ever need me. No fancy touch screens or glass that you said makes no sense. Just your average, run-of-the-mill mobile."

 _He didn't... All of this trouble to find it. For me?_

"T-thank you," Steve spoke quietly. His voice had become audibly cracked and he choked up. He leaned forward once more to grab the man in a warmer hug than before, his chin rested on his shoulder. "S- _so much..._ "

"So maybe you won't get so nervous while you're home alone?"

Leon chuckled a little as he petted the younger's back, only to be startled when the teen bobbed up on his heels, knocking his shoulder into the man's chin. He pulled back to see what was just going on, just as a weak fist bashed against his chest as a warning, that same hand grabbing onto his jacket. He was getting a very mixed response to this gift. He wasn't quite sure what the other meant. Was he happy, or was he annoyed? Maybe he hated it, or was he so overwhelmed with joy that he was becoming violent? Youth was confusing.

"Half hour!" Steve spat, drawing back to glare at him. "Every half hour, you have to call! You _have_ to call me, no matter what you're doing!" He yanked on the blond's jacket once, shoulders shaking as he riled himself up again. "You gotta _promise_ me!"

"I can't call you every half hour," Leon responded snappily. "But I can send you a text message. It's the next best thing."

A quick glare was enough to tell him that Steve wasn't happy with that information. Whatsoever. He could only sigh at the teen's antics. Correction; youth was a pain. "I'm serious, Steve. I can't call you that often. I might not even be able to message you that much. You might not be able to hear my voice, but you can at least get confirmation."

"Then promise me you'll message every half hour. Minimum."

Leon was already taking note that he wasn't going to win this argument. No matter what he was going to say, it was going to be wrong.

"Two hours," he countered. The curl of Steve's nose told him he was irritated with his proposal.

"Forty-five minutes."

"An hour and a half."

Steve made a noise reminiscent of a growl. An idea quickly popped into his head, his eyes softening at the realisation. A compromise. Something he hoped they could both agree on.

"How about we go even," he declared, eyes drifting down for a moment, and then refocussing on his face. Leon was proud to say his conviction was admirable, if not simply pure stubbornness. "One hour, on the dot. Every hour."

The two remained in a locked stare as seconds passed, Steve's eyes narrowing more as Leon's grew more tired. There was no way he was going to win against a sugar-jacked teenager with who-knows-what abilities under his belt. That liquid fire in his veins wasn't just hot air that kept his ego afloat. That was a burning resolve he could never hope to extinguish. Or maybe he was just too old for this.

Having deciding to give in, Leon took in a steady breath, resting his hand atop the younger's head, a genuine smile across his lips.

"Fine. I _promise_ to message you every hour. From here on out."


End file.
